


Helping Out

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras was suddenly aware that he was staring and he tore his eyes away and cleared his throat. “I just needed a minute,” he muttered. “I was about ready to kill every single person in there.” Grantaire chuckled lightly and Enjolras shot him a glance. “You included.”“So you need to get some rage out.” Grantaire delivered the words like a statement of fact, but for some reason, his tone made Enjolras’s chest feel tight. “I can help with that.”“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”





	Helping Out

**Author's Note:**

> Because I was apparently in a porn-writing mood.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

The door to the bathroom had barely even closed behind Enjolras before it was opened again, and Enjolras glanced over his shoulder, rolling his eyes when he saw who it was. “Can you seriously not give me even a moment of peace?” he snapped, stepping over to the urinal. **  
**

He heard but didn’t see the person behind him lock the bathroom door and he swallowed. “Didn’t think you came in here for peace,” Grantaire said, an edge to his voice that made the hairs on the back of Enjolras’s neck stand upright.

“Well I don’t typically look for an audience when I have to take a leak, but—”

“And yet you don’t seem to need to anymore.” Grantaire leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he looked at Enjolras appraisingly, and Enjolras hated the way his rolled up sleeves only highlighted the muscles that moved underneath them.

Enjolras was suddenly aware that he was staring and he tore his eyes away and cleared his throat. “I just needed a minute,” he muttered. “I was about ready to kill every single person in there.” Grantaire chuckled lightly and Enjolras shot him a glance. “You included.”

“So you need to get some rage out.” Grantaire delivered the words like a statement of fact, but for some reason, his tone made Enjolras’s chest feel tight. “I can help with that.”

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, and Enjolras might have felt bad about it were it not for the fact that this meeting wouldn’t even be happening were it not for Grantaire falling down on the job, the one task Enjolras had assigned him. And now it was up to Enjolras to smooth things over talking to people he couldn’t stand, with Grantaire there for…

Honestly, Enjolras wasn’t sure why Grantaire was there. Atonement, maybe. Or maybe just to be a pain in his ass.

“I wasn’t referring to the meeting.”

Enjolras blinked and looked back at Grantaire. “Sorry?”

Grantaire pushed himself upright and took a step toward him. “When I said I could help you get some rage out,” he clarified, his eyes trailing down Enjolras’s entire body in a way that made Enjolras feel suddenly hot and cold at once, “I wasn’t referring to the meeting.”

Enjolras licked his lips, very aware of how conspicuously tight his pants felt. “Tempting,” he said, his voice low and a little hoarse. “But I think I’ve had just about enough of your help.”

He made as if to brush past Grantaire, who reached out and grabbed his arm. Despite everything, despite the fact that they stood so close that Enjolras could feel the heat radiating off of Grantaire, despite the same heat that seemed to burn in Grantaire’s eyes, his grip was gentle, reverent even.

Enjolras could have pulled his arm away at any time.

If he wanted to.

“Do you?” Grantaire asked, so quietly that Enjolras almost didn’t hear him, partially because his heartbeat was suddenly very loud in his own ears as all the blood in his head seemed to rush southward. Enjolras said nothing, and Grantaire’s hand slid down his arm to circle his wrist. “Say the word and I’m gone.”

Enjolras knew beyond any doubt that Grantaire meant it, that all it would take was a single word from him and Grantaire would be gone, never to mention it again.

He said nothing, and Grantaire let go, taking a step away. “Ok,” he said calmly. “I’ll see you back in there.”

Grantaire turned to leave and it was Enjolras’s turn to reach out and grab him, holding him in place. “Wait,” he said, and Grantaire did, helpless, as always, but to obey an order from Enjolras.

Enjolras hated what that thought did to him.

Grantaire turned, his expression neutral. “Do you want my help?” he repeated, and Enjolras closed his eyes, far too aware of how many times they had done this before, how many times he had taken Grantaire up on this offer, and he swallowed when he felt Grantaire take a step toward him. “I need to hear you say it.”

Enjolras had promised himself that the last time would be the last, had sworn this wouldn’t happen again. But it was despite every instinct in his body that he breathed, “Yes.”

Grantaire didn’t hesitate. This time, when his hand closed around Enjolras’s wrist, it was to twist his arm behind his back. Gone was the gentle touch from before; now Grantaire’s grip was tight enough to bruise, and Enjolras gasped, as much from the pain as the wave of pleasure that accompanied it.

He let Grantaire push him forward, gave almost no resistance until the cool tile wall of the bathroom offered it for him, but still Grantaire pushed, shoving him face first against the wall, and Enjolras bit off a gasp, his eyes fluttering closed as Grantaire reached around, fumbling with his belt. He made quick work with it, and Enjolras shivered as Grantaire’s breath panted hot and heavy against the back of his neck as his fingers lightly skimmed along his zipper before he seemed to change his mind, moving his hand to knead Enjolras’s ass through his slacks, and Enjolras’s hips stuttered helplessly in search of friction.

It was exquisite torture, and still Enjolras needed more.

He arched his back as if to buck Grantaire off of himself and tried to swivel to glare at him. “I don’t exactly have a lot of time for prep here,” he hissed, and Grantaire fisted a hand in his hair, pulling his face off the wall.

“Is that how you like it?’ he asked, his voice low in Enjolras’s ear, his other hand pressed against Enjolras’s spine. “Rushed and painful? That what gets you off, feeling it every time you sit down for the next week?”

“Week?” Enjolras shot back through gritted teeth, and Grantaire tightened his grip on his hair. “And here I thought you were a cynic.”

Grantaire let out a grunt that sounded almost like a laugh. “Cute,” he said. “But I could make you feel it for a week. That’s not faith, it’s a guarantee.” He released his hold and Enjolras slumped forward against the wall. Any relief he might have felt was short lived, as Grantaire grabbed him by the hips and flipped him around, crowding him against the wall and slotting his thigh between Enjolras’s legs. “But thankfully for you, that’s not what gets me off.”

The breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat as he searched Grantaire’s expression. “No?” he asked, aiming for defiant and missing by a mile, in no small part because of the way Grantaire’s thigh was pressing against his erection.

“No.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard. “Then what does?” he asked, lifting his chin slightly in as much of a challenge as he could muster.

Grantaire’s eyes darkened. “This,” he said, before crushing his lips against Enjolras’s.

The move took Enjolras off-guard more so than anything thus far and for a moment he was helpless to do anything but open his mouth against Grantaire’s, hands dropping automatically to rest on Grantaire’s hips.

And then he pushed, shoving Grantaire away from him, even as he stayed exactly where he was. “Is that all you’ve got?” he asked, his voice coming out a low growl.

Grantaire half-smiled. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

His eyes didn’t leave Enjolras’s as he made quick work of his own belt, but he took his time sliding his zipper down, and even longer palming himself through the dark cotton of his boxers. Enjolras swallowed again as Grantaire pushed his boxers down, just low enough for his cock to spring free. He licked his lips as Grantaire squeezed the base before slowly, teasingly drawing his hand up the shaft, running his thumb through the glistening pearl of pre-cum welling against the slit.

Enjolras tore his eyes away from the sight to meet Grantaire’s eyes again. “I don’t have all day,” he said coldly.

“And yet you’re still waiting on me,” Grantaire said, stroking his cock almost lazily, and Enjolras could feel his cock twitch at the sight.

“I don’t have to,” he said, too breathily to be as confident as he intended.

“No?”

In defiant answer, Enjolras unzipped his pants, shoving them and boxer briefs down his hips in one go, his own cock hard as iron, but before he could even touch it, Grantaire closed the space between them again, grabbing both of Enjolras’s wrists and pinning them above his head with one head. “I don’t recall giving you permission to touch.”

Enjolras leaned in and kissed him in response.

Grantaire groaned what might’ve been praise, or a curse, but Enjolras swallowed the sound, his hips bucking as Grantaire tripped his fingers lightly down the rigid line of his cock. “Fuck,” Enjolras choked as Grantaire wrapped his fist around his cock and gave a firm stroke upward, and then, at the repeated motion, a high-pitched keen. “Grantaire—”

“What do you say?” Grantaire asked, his breathing harsh in Enjolras’s ear, and when Enjolras just shook his head wordlessly, he bit down sharply on Enjolras’s ear lobe. “Say it.”

“ _Please_.”

Grantaire shifted, his cock brushing against Enjolras’s, and the slow drag of his hardened flesh punched a moan from Enjolras’s chest, a moan Grantaire captured with his mouth, a moan that turned into a cry when Grantaire wrapped his fingers around both of them.

Even if Grantaire wasn’t pinning him in place, Enjolras wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to move, his entire body taut as Grantaire slowly jacked them both, the rough drag of his calloused hands a perfect contrast to the silky, heated flesh of his cock.

It was perfect.

And it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Grantaire,” he hissed, even though his brain was short-circuiting enough that he had no idea what he was going to say next.

But Grantaire knew. Grantaire always knew, and without so much as a pause in the rough, rhythmic stroke of his fist around their cocks, he let go of Enjolras’s wrists, moving instead to cup his cheek.

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“I need—” Enjolras broke off as Grantaire twisted his fist around the head of his cock, and his head tipped back against the wall.

“I know what you need,” Grantaire said. “I always know what you need.”

Enjolras’s eyes fluttered closed as Grantaire picked up speed, rutting against him with urgency. He felt Grantaire gently trace his lips with his thumb, and his mouth fell open. Grantaire pressed his thumb inside before ordering, his voice harsh, “Suck.”

Enjolras didn’t need to be told twice, closing his lips and hollowing his cheeks. Grantaire let out a low, guttural noise, and his eyes locked on Enjolras’s, something unreadable in his expression.

Not that it mattered. Enjolras’s eyes shut again as he felt Grantaire tense against him, felt his fist start to lose its rhythm, felt the wet release as it slicked Grantaire’s way. Grantaire pulled his thumb out of Enjolras’s mouth, dragging it across his cheek and leaving a trail of saliva in its wake as he slid his hand down to rest heavily against Enjolras’s neck.

There was no pressure, no digging into his skin as his thumb ghosted across Enjolras’s Adam’s apple, but the threat of it was enough to almost push Enjolras over the end. And then Grantaire leaned in, kissed the corner of Enjolras’s mouth, and whispered raggedly, “Enjolras—”

That was all it took. A single, hoarse statement of his name, and Enjolras went rock hard, thick, white cum streaking Grantaire’s hand and mingling with Grantaire’s, who urgent motion slowed until it finally stopped.

Enjolras leaned bonelessly against the wall, his breathing ragged as he watched Grantaire slowly straighten, examining the mess on his hand as if memorizing the sight. He turned toward the paper towel dispenser but Enjolras reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Let me,” he offered quietly, and Grantaire’s eyes darkened.

He stood stock-still as Enjolras lifted his hand up to his mouth, dragging his tongue through the messy streaks of cum across Grantaire’s fingers. When he had mostly cleaned his hand, he let go, watching Grantaire’s hand fall back to his side, and then he met Grantaire’s eyes and swallowed. 

“Jesus,” Grantaire muttered, before letting out a shaky laugh. “That was, uh…”

He trailed off and Enjolras nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said.

Silently, both men began to redress, Enjolras hastily tucking himself away and pulling his pants up. He fumbled with his belt before saying into the silence that seemed to stretch heavily between them, “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said simpy, and Enjolras glared at him.

“I mean it,” he said sharply.

“Ok,” Grantaire repeated, raising an eyebrow at Enjolras as he tucked his shirt back into his pants.

Enjolras ground his teeth together in frustration. “Don’t you think we need to stop doing this?”

Grantaire sighed. “I don’t think anything,” he said tiredly. “That’s above my pay grade.”

“Be serious,” Enjolras snapped.

Grantaire met his glare evenly. “For once, I was.”

“Don’t — I mean, c’mon,” Enjolras spluttered, as taken aback by Grantaire’s blasé attitude as anything. “Don’t you think we shouldn’t do this? That this is wrong?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I think wrong is subjective.”

“Wrong is subjective,” Enjolras repeated, barking a laugh, and he ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. “You can stop toeing the party line. I mean, Christ, Grantaire, I get that you like hurting me, and God knows I don’t blame you for it—”

“I don’t,” Grantaire interrupted, his voice tight, his expression dangerously dark.

Enjolras blinked. “What?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t like hurting you,” he said, the starkness of his words underlining their sincerity. “I don’t get off on it. If I had my way, I would never fuck you in a bathroom or in the back alley behind the Musain. I would never leave another bruise on you.”

“Then why—”

“Because you get off on it,” Grantaire said simply. “And I get off on getting you off.”

Enjolras couldn’t seem to breathe. “Grantaire—”

Grantaire looked at him, a small, half-smile on his face. “You asked me one time, if I would do something for you.”

Enjolras looked at him warily. “You said you would do anything.”

“And I meant it.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “But — why?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “You know why.”

Enjolras did. He always had.

“So if you want this to be the last time, then ok,” Grantaire continued calmly. “And if you don’t, that’s ok, too.” He straightened, adjusting his shirt. “Now we should really get back in there before our absence is noticed.”

Grantaire started to leave but Enjolras caught his arm. “Grantaire, I—”

“I know,” Grantaire told him with a small smile. “I know.”

Then he left, and Enjolras stared after him as the bathroom door closed behind him. When the door had finally closed, Enjolras shook his head slowly and took a deep breath before following Grantaire out.

He had work to do.


End file.
